


Their foolish hearts.

by MaverickWerewolf, Tafferling



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Dungeons & Dragons Online
Genre: Compulsion, F/M, First Time, First Time for lots of things, Geas, In-between the RP sessions ficlets, M for coarse language and violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverickWerewolf/pseuds/MaverickWerewolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/pseuds/Tafferling
Summary: Sinvik isn’t a thief. She’d just really, really needed what that wizard had cooked up, and he wouldn’t part with it no matter how nicely she’d asked. And then she got caught. That hadn’t been her fault though. No. It had all been his.Tom isn’t a bad guy. A werewolf, yes, but that’s hardly his fault. And while we are at things that aren’t on him, how about that wizard’s wife really, really liking him? How was he supposed to know? Or know that he’d get caught, and that he’d trip right over a little elf with her hands in the magic cookie jar.Never one for half measures, the man they wronged picked a punishment to last: a geas compelling them to never turn down a plea for help, to be of service to anyone who’d ask.And to never leave the other’s side.





	1. Dear Diary-

**Author's Note:**

> Much like Tempered Hearts and Come up for Air, this is another collection of short ficlets taking place between RP sessions. Tom Drake is the main protagonist in Mav's Wulfgard Series, and Sinvik is right out of Taff's Shielding Thing, and we hope you enjoy spending some time with them.
> 
> In this particular story, Vik gets caught trying to steal from a wizard, and Tom gets caught with the same wizard's wife. They get into each others way trying to bail, and the wizard goes ahead and puts a geas on them, a compulsion that forces them to never leave each other's side, and to help those in need. Since how else would we excuse them doing one quest after the other while we levelled them.

> _ Dear Diary, _
> 
> _ Day 8: My life is done.  _

**T** hat was what Sinvik had started with, and then she’d run out of words to express just  _ how  _ done it was. How over. How just far over that over, having leapt the fence, the moat, and the next large obstacle expected to keep lives somewhat decently contained.

All because of one Tom Drake, self proclaimed champion of damsels in a particular distress, and insufferably bell end. She hated him. Couldn’t stand that, for as long as she breathed and the curse still bound them, he’d be around to make her life miserable.  And don’t get her started on how much she hated having no choice but to say _Yes,_ to any and all earnest requests, as long as they were made in good will.

* * *

 

> _ She’s adorable. Kind of hates my guts. Only makes her cuter. _

**H** e’d scratched a note onto the lightly yellowed journal page, right next to a quick and dirty but well-done (because he was a good artist, thanks for noticing) sketch of a cute elf sitting there frowning at him with enough of a furrow in her brow to leave stress lines there  _ really  _ early.

Not that he could entirely blame her for the way she felt. She wasn’t  _ used  _ to being cursed, that much was obvious. Not like Tom. This was kind of just par for the course for him, and what had it resulted in? Him having company while he went around and did what he always did anyway.  _ He  _ wasn’t going to be the one complaining.

She was, though, and it was so endearing. All the huffing she did at him, the glaring, the way she smacked at him sometimes like an angry little cat. Honestly, she had a lot in common with a cat. Y’know, the kind you had to get to sniff your hand and then it took weeks for them to like you. But they warmed up over time. They always did.

Even if they sometimes scratched you  _ really  _ hard now and then in the meantime. Because this elf had claws, too, and sometimes she said things that even managed to hurt  _ him  _ a little bit.

* * *

> _ Dear Diary, _
> 
> _ Day 10: Who the ever-loving-fuck has crypts in their basement anyway?  _

**S** he’d never had to stand her ground in a fight before. Never had to fight. Period. Her fingers might have been calloused and scarred, her palms bruised. But swords? Crossbows? No. She knew small hammers, instead. Pincers. Screws. Cables and pliers and the heat of metal bending with magic washing over it. That was her life, and it followed her around wherever she went: Sai, the construct built to look like a dog.  _ Her  _ dog. She’d made him. Was proud of that.

And now Sai had to get zombie gunk between his metal teeth and she had to try and hold her arms steady while the crossbow she held onto was just getting heavier and heavier and heavier…  

* * *

> _ She’s got a metal dog, too. Pretty awesome. _

**T** hat note went beside a sketch of Sai, Vik’s (yeah, she was  _ Sinvik _ , but she was also  _ Vik _ , get used to it) protective construct buddy. Tom had gotten unused to actually fighting  _ alongside  _ something, or someone – he hadn’t done that for what felt like a long time now. Well, when it happened again, he hadn’t expected a metal dog with ringing little barks, built like a slightly oversized puppy with big, clumsy paws to match.

It was fucking adorable. Vik hadn’t said much when Tom told her that, but hey, that didn’t make it any less true.

He learned really fast that Vik was a scaredy-cat, too (back onto the cat thing…). Inexperience, probably. She was so innocent she almost puked when she smelled their first zombie, after all.

Tom was starting to feel seriously sorry for her.

* * *

> _ Dear Diary, _
> 
> _ Day 10: He’s a werewolf. Fuck. Me. _

**T** hat evening, Sinvik found out what mind numbing terror really felt like.

* * *

**O** ne note, no picture – just some severely frustrated scribbles darkening half a page.

> _ Fuck. Turned. _

**Y** eah, that didn’t go down so well. He’d gotten such a handle on it lately it’d caught him off-guard when the moon appeared from behind a bunch of clouds like  _ hey, remember me, remember how I like to fuck you over? _

And then it did that. Fucked him over. Because the Wolf came out and he turned right there in front of her, and he didn’t remember anything beyond that. But hey, it was morning again now, so he could scribble in that journal some more and throw way too many self-conscious glances at Vik who’d been staring at him the entire time like he was going to rip her throat out any second.

Tom winced. It stung.

But hey – at least he hadn’t eaten her. That was pretty great.


	2. Tasty Snack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mav and I wrote ficlets for Tom and Vik between our RP sessions, _Redfang_ being the first noteable one that we wanted to share. But since readers would miss out on the actual RP that lead up to the various ficlets, we decided to bridge that gap with journal entries.

 

> _**D** ear Diary- _
> 
> I’ve died and fallen into some bizarre hell. It looks like Stormreach, smells like Stormreach, but it’s got sewers and it’s got crypts and it’s got a gods damn werewolf.
> 
> Granted, he hasn’t tried to eat me yet.
> 
> That— that’s something about everything _else_ wants to do? Normal wolves (the sort that doesn’t put on pants). Spiders. Orcs (I think? They eat elves?) Weird-ass demon things with horse faces and trunks hanging off their heads— and every fucking else that moves?
> 
> And _no_ . **No.** Telling me that’s ‘cause I’m a “Tasty snack” is **not** funny, you absolute **jackass.**

 

> …
> 
> Okay. Time to _help_ again. Something about a spider down in some basement, because Tom can’t help himself and got to always, _always_ , stop at the sight of a distressed looking pair of titties.
> 
> _Ugh._
> 
> Maybe the spider is real big. So big, it’ll eat him. _Gods_ — or maybe I’d be okay if it eats me, if that means I don’t got to watch that gigantic tosspot strut back to the titties like he’s been fucking born for this.

* * *

 **A** s always, Tom’s journal was organized only to him. Lots of pictures lined the pages, with plenty of notes scrawled here and there…

Beside a cartoonishly scowling Vik: _Vik is even grouchier than usual lately. Wonder what crawled up her butt and decided to stay there. She’s made of scowls and curses and pessimism and it makes me sad._

On the same page next to a doodle of a preposterously teeny tiny Vik beside a measuring stick: _I could_ ** _swallow her_** **_whole_** _._

> _So yes, Vik, you are a_ **_snack_ ** _. And you smell so nice you’ve just GOT to be tasty._
> 
> _(have I ever told her how great she smells?)_

Near the tiny Vik and underneath a lineup of various monsters and magical beasts: _I’ve got a whole lot of monsters (granted I killed all of them so you won’t be seeing them in court) to back me up on those facts, but she doesn’t find the truth very funny. Too bad I do._

Then, in the middle of various city sketches: _There sure is a whole population of beautiful women in this place. Need to see about living here. Plus they all need help and they’re all grateful afterward._

And the latest entry, with a drawing of a spider: _Redfang. Guess we’re killing some kind of giant spider now. Time to find out if it really has red fangs._

* * *

 **A** fter beating few dozen oversized (severely so, most of them were bigger than your average hound) spiders, lots of dust, and too many crates to count, they finally found the spider that just had to be Redfang.

It had to be because it was _fucking huge_ , for starters, and also because it looked about five times as terrifying as all the rest. Black body, slick and shimmering, marked with the occasional stripe of red – kind of like someone’s fucked up vision of an extra poisonous black widow.

Tom quickly sized it up and gave a cursory glance around its lair full of boxes – hopefully those wouldn’t get in the way while he was trying to kill it.

 _They._ While _they_ were trying to kill it.

And although Tom wasn’t super impressed with the spider, even as it reared and chittered and waved its giant ugly legs around threateningly, Vik was made of swears and profanities, some of which had to be Elven or something because he couldn’t understand them worth a shit.

That, and the fear coming off her was so strong he couldn’t just smell it, he could _taste_ it. He wished some part of him didn’t think for half a second about just how good it tasted, too – how it got his blood rushing.

_You’re such a fucked up monster, you know that?_

Alright. Redfang. Killing it.

In a flash of blades that caught the meager torchlight, Tom drew his swords and charged straight for the giant spider. From the corner of his eye, he saw Vik throw him a look like she wondered where his brain went (which was funny because she’d told him a good many times she thought his was missing to begin with). But she raised her repeating crossbow and began to fire.

With that familiar clicking and thunking of Vik’s weaponry in his ears – which actually did help with his confidence, as if he needed that – Tom swung for Redfang’s head. It ducked back and out of the way, trying to swat him aside with a massive, slick leg.

Wheeling, Tom hacked at it so hard it halfway severed the tip of the limb and made Redfang let out the most incredibly fucking horrible _deafening_ screech Tom had ever heard.

“FuckingHELL!” Tom yelled while the sheer volume and pitch of that searing noise tried to split his head right down the middle, making him stagger in place.

Redfang apparently saw its chance, too, because it abruptly shut up and lunged for him with long fangs glistening greenish from a sheath of poison. Tom only had time to notice it moving and choke out a quick swear before it caught him right on the neck, chomping down hard.

The fangs slid in deep and so did all the poison he saw – plus a _lot_ more – and it _burned_ . Tom shouted and swore _again_ and dropped one sword long enough to grab the thing’s fucking gross face and give it a shove away from his neck.

Redfang backed up an inch or two, probably waiting for him to succumb to the poison, as much as it’d tried pumping into him.

But Tom just shook his head and tried to ignore the nausea that suddenly bit at the bottom of his throat and the wave of dizziness that made his head pound. Because, in a second, a rush of adrenaline came and overtook all of it.

In Redfang’s defense, it probably hadn’t been expecting a werewolf.

Then again, he hadn’t been expecting that leg that came out of nowhere, either.

Probably deciding it’d save him for a snack or something later (because it still expected him to give in to that poison, _ha_ ), Redfang swiped a huge leg for him, caught him square in the chest, and sent him flying backwards with his skull cracking straight into a pile of those stupid fucking wooden boxes.

Turned out those _really hurt_ when you flew into them head-first.

* * *

 **G** ood thing about traveling with a werewolf? If she was to, for a second or so, entertain the thought that there was anything even _remotely_ good about it? When push came to shove— or claws came to rake— or monsters to pounce— the werewolf didn’t back down. Ever. More so, he just— wouldn’t— _quit._ Didn’t matter how much he got thrown around. Didn’t matter how hard he got smacked. And hey, getting bit in the fucking neck by a monstrously large spider?

No big deal.

Nope.

None at all.

Well. Least until Redfang swiped at him with one long limb (a limb thicker than her legs, by far), and Sinvik watched, her eyes wide and her knees turning to jelly, how he got lifted right off his feet and got knocked into a bunch of crates.

Oh yeah. There was Sai, too. Gnawing on another one of those legs and getting flung about like an afterthought.

Which left her. Standing there. With her crossbow. Pointed forward. Going _click, click, click,_ because she’d conveniently run out of bolts _right this second._ Since life hated her. The Gods, too. Everyone. Everything.

…

That spider in particular.

All of which was a real damn shame, because she’d kind of sort of maybe thought she’d been useful today, when they’d made their way down floor by floor, and she’d found out someone had rigged the place with traps. Traps, those were a thing she could do. Traps and locks on doors and trunks—

—not spiders though, and when Redfang reached her, slamming her down on her back with a heavy limb colliding with her chest, Sinvik knew this was it. For the hundredth time, she saw death coming for her. Dripping poison this time, rather than swinging small clubs and swords like the goblins did, or rattling bones like the skeletons. Or— or— or—

It sunk its fangs into her in the shoulder and she screamed.

* * *

 **T** om blinked and rubbed his skull with his free hand. He wasn’t really sure where his head went, or if the thing on his shoulders now was a good enough substitute, because damn all it did was pound and his ears wouldn’t stop throbbing.

His hand came away hot and sticky. Great, he was bleeding, too. And… the room probably wasn’t supposed to be moving.

And then Vik screamed.

Before he knew it, he was on his feet again and all the smashed-in skull and poison in his veins didn’t matter anymore. Hell if he knew why. He just _acted._

One sword in hand, he charged for Redfang as it beared down on Vik, bared his teeth, and leapt.

He brought the blade down straight into its head, landing atop it and planting his feet against its gross shiny body. Redfang screeched again and reared, trying to throw him off – but Tom held fast, grabbing one of its pedipalps in his right while his left gave the sword in the monster’s head a brutal, crunching twist.

That did it. Redfang collapsed in a heap, belly first, and its stupidly long, spindly (not actually spindly, they were at least as thick as branches on an old tree) legs twitched and curled in on themselves as a final, long hiss escaped between its fangs.

Tom straightened up again and gripped his sword, yanking it hard from the spider’s head and jumping down from the oversized corpse with at triumphant, “Ha!”

Vik was just now scrambling to her feet again, so Tom paused just long enough to duck down and get a glance at its fangs. Which… were they red? They _were_ red.

Oh wait, that was just his and Vik’s blood.

He knew that was bullshit – spiders didn’t have red _fangs_ …

“I’m almost disappointed,” he said, quickly turning to Vik and watching her.

“Mh?” she mumbled, sounding completely out of it.

“No red fangs,” he pointed out halfheartedly, tilting his head at her. “You okay?”

“Brilliant,” Vik replied as dismissively as she could, which was about as convincing as he’d be right now if he said that bite in his neck didn’t hurt. Didn’t help that she shook all over like a leaf in a hurricane – one that was about to pop off the tree and go sailing into the side of something it shouldn’t. “You?” she asked, pointedly giving that aforementioned bite a look.

“Who, me? I’m great.”

Yeah, like he’d said, he couldn’t make that sound convincing for shit.

Vik was a little busy to answer, because she was heading straight for the ladder on the far side of the room. Which, from here, the far side of the room as compared to where she was looked _really_ far, as slowly as she shuffled toward it, occasionally putting her hands out.

Not that Tom could really blame her, because he’d thought the room was a bucking ship earlier, too. But it definitely didn’t help make her argument of being ‘fine’ convincing in the least.

Tom got his other sword, wiped them off, and sheathed them just before he finally bothered to press a hand down on that bite in his neck. And he trailed along after her, inching up and getting just close enough that he’d have time to lunge and catch her if – _when_ – she went stumbling and crumpling to the floor.

“I feel woozy,” she said. And then kept walking, right toward the ladder, because hey, woozy didn’t mean anything did it?

Alright, he probably would’ve done the same thing. Whatever.

“What, still poisoned?” Tom said, watching as she got a slightly shaky grip on the ladder and started climbing up.

“Because poison just goes away?” Vik halfway muttered, not bothering to look back at him.

“I heard that,” Tom remarked.

“Mh. Don’t care.”

“ _Mine_ goes away. Hells, it’s pretty much already gone.”

“You’re a bloody werewolf.”

Ow. _That_ stung. Sounded kind of like an accusation. And honestly it hurt him a lot worse than he wanted to admit.

Still, it sounded kind of _sluggish_ , too, he thought as he had half a mind to put a hand on her (shapely) rear and shove her the rest of the way up the (actually pretty tall) ladder. Because, gods, she was taking _forever._

And then she fell.

She just slumped, went all limp, and then her hands let go of the thing and her feet slid out at an awkward angle, and—

“Shit!”

Tom held on with one hand and swung himself out from the ladder enough that he could catch Vik in one arm when she came falling past. Which came close to knocking him off the ladder, too, because he’d only halfassed his footing on the way up, and it got him to grunt and curse again.

His head threatened to spin off his neck and the big punctures Redfang left there gave a sharp, tugging throb.

Of course, to keep her from just slipping out of his arm, he had to pull her over and hold her against him, which was – frankly – awkward as hell. Not because she was just a limp pile of tiny elf, either.

Because, hey, this unconscious bundle of limbs kind of hated his guts and liked reminding him of it.

Did she _really_ , though? Come on. Did she _really_.

Tom frowned and moved her over to prop her against his arm keeping him on the ladder, while he untangled her arms so he could get her over his shoulder. Alright, and he also just really wanted a second to get a handle on how much everything wanted to protest his moving around right now.

Vik was cute. That was the weirdest thought to have right now, but he went and had it. She was even cuter when she was snapping at him. Not so much when she threw silver coins at his skull (she was lucky he hadn’t eaten her already just for being that annoying), but the _fuck you_ s and the fuming, that was just adorable.

Not too cute when she was looking green around the gills and falling all around in his lap. No wait, the second one was cute, too, whatever the reason.

Too bad she was… well, her, acting the way she did all the time. Because she was determined to make this whole thing as unpleasant as freaking possible, for some reason. Yeah, okay, he usually thought with his sword – any one of the three… three because he wielded two swords; what the fuck is wrong with you? – but what guy didn’t, right?

Besides, _she’d_ gotten caught by that wizard, too. All to get some stupid part, so maybe she just needed to work on her thieving skills. Maybe if she hadn’t _been_ there drawing that dumbass wizard’s attention, none of this would’ve happened…

Alright, alright. Not worrying about that right now, not _again_ , for the thousandth time. Waiting until she was poisoned and unconscious seemed like the pettiest time to finally get sore about all this. Even if he _could_ be petty.

Anyway, Tom hoisted her up over one shoulder – what? He had to climb a ladder, here – and kept going up, huffing just a little harder for it. But not much, really. She was light as a feather. Mostly it was all that junk she carried around.

“Guess we’re even, huh?” he said for absolutely no reason. “You hauled my ass down a hall, now I get to haul yours.”

A metallic bark sounded underneath him. Tom paused and threw a look down at Sai, standing there and robo-rattle-growling up at him like he was wronging Vik somehow. Kind of like he’d done that time he’d been admiring the view when she had her head stuck in a trunk and her rear end up in the air.

“Pfft, yeah, like _you’re_ gonna carry her up here instead,” Tom shot down at the little metal puppy. Hopefully he wouldn’t get his ankles bitten for that.

Then he reached the top, where the door back up was – thank the gods, although he still had like a fuckton of stories to climb, because this guy had the biggest basement Tom had ever seen. He pulled Vik off his shoulder and got her in his arms instead, like a gentleman. Because he could be gentle, thank you very much.

“You’re going to throw up on me, aren’t you?” he said as he pushed the door open with his boot and started the trek up. “Please don’t. It sucks enough having to get spiderweb off me, I don’t need to wash out puke, too.”

Metallic clinking and clanking was catching up behind him. Maybe he’d be washing off some bitten ankles, too, once Sai caught up, since Vik was so fucking smart she’d invented a metal dog that could climb ladders.

Not that _he_ couldn’t climb ladders, too. You know, when he was a wolf. Werewolf. Either one. He could do it in both. Trial and error, for the form without hands.

“How about this, I’ll make you a deal,” Tom went on, starting up the nearest wooden plank that led (you know, hopefully) back toward the surface. “If you throw up on me, _you_ get to give me a bath.”

Vik, of course, didn’t say anything. Because she was unconscious. Duh.

“ _Yeah, Drake, that sounds great_ ,” he mimicked, very poorly, but nobody was listening so it didn’t matter. “Awesome, glad we could agree on that.”

Should he check her wounds? He should probably check her wounds.

“I’m not sucking the poison out of a bite, Vik.”

Wait. He’d do that, actually.

“Nevermind. But I think the thing sprayed you in the _face_ anyway, so…” Wait. Again. He snickered.

Tom found a nice place to stop, just some more stone with some more crates around, because the whole place was like this. Gently setting Vik down, he started checking her for wounds. Starting with getting her shirt off enough to look at whatever was making that patch of blood on her—

And she punched him in the face. Again.

“OW!” He rubbed his jaw and huffed. “Yeah, okay. You’re _welcome_.”

* * *

 **T** here were hands on her. And her head hurt. A lot. Other bits, too. Lots of other bits. Overall, Sinvik felt like garbage that’d gone down a long set of stairs in a rusty old tin can, and was headed for round two.

Hands though.

The world came together in a blur when she came to. There were colours and there was the pain, and then there was the smell of peaty ash, too. It got right up into her personal space, and it had hands.

 _Ah-what-_ Oh.

Tom.

Sinvik’s heart got really into beating then and she was awake even as she jerked an arm around. That she hit him straight in his _stupid_ face was a coincidence. ( _“OW!”_ ) Promise. Cross her heart. And that she then almost smacked _herself_ in the face when she withdrew her hand (because she was hastily trying to shove her shirt back down), was just outright embarrassing.

Almost as embarrassing as remembering that she’d fainted.

While climbing up a ladder.

…

While being fairly far up a ladder.

“Yeah, okay. You’re _welcome,_ ” he said. Though she barely heard it, what with how her ears were a bit of a mess, feeling like someone’d stuffed cotton into them.

Her mouth worked though.

“Hands.”

She wiggled. Pushed at him. At his arms. Tried to get them away. Because she wasn’t one of _those._ No. Nope. Never. Ever.

Which was all really ridiculous, really. She knew that. Sinvik took a deep breath. Gathered herself. Gathered the pain, too, trying to map out where it hurt the most. But. Yeah. Ridiculous. Her eyes flew up to him still rubbing his jaw. His _stupid_ square jaw with the hint of a shadow on it. That _stupid_ jaw attached to the man that’d just tried to help her after he’d saved her from cracking her skull wide open.

Yeah. Ridiculous. But she couldn’t help it. Because despite of it all, she couldn’t think of _Thank you._ Just of _I hate you and if you touch me I’ll bite your_ **stupid** _nose off._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and thus the slow burn begins.


End file.
